Penthouse Variations on Submission, page 1
Penthouse Variations on
submission
Penthouse Variations on
submission
BY THE EDITORS OF
PENTHOUSE VARIATIONS
Copyright © 2015 by General Media Communications, Inc., a subsidiary of FriendFinder Networks Inc.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 375
Hudson Street, Twelfth Floor, New York, New York, 10014.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover Photograph: Steven Miric/Getty Images
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
Certain materials herein were previously published in Penthouse Variations magazine.
PENTHOUSE, VARIATIONS, the PENTHOUSE VARIATIONS logo, and the One
Key logo are trademarks of General Media Communications, Inc., and are used by permission.
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-129-9
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-141-1
CONTENTS
Introduction Barbara Pizio
Kinky Sex Games Gracie Stevenson
Model of Pleasure Chad Robbins
My Erotic Awakening Petra Adams
Beverly Hills Brat Patrice Wray
Absolute Beginners George Bryant
Walking Tall Constance Wright
From Top to Bottom Jasmine Dark
Lessons Learned Carol Dering
Tickling Her Ivories Cameron Dawson
Strap-On Seduction Melissa Lippman
A Vow of Silence Stella Chadwick
Camille’s Bad Day Ken Bass
Heavy Petting Catherine Morris
His Bad Girl Owen Reynolds
Nighttime Naughtiness Maggie Rigdon
Do As I Say Bree Higby
Slave for a Night Felicity Lewis
Expensive Tastes Evelyn Townsend
Silken Bonds Cassandra Marx
A Brief Distraction Alison Tyler
Introduction
Cuffed wrists, sexy threats and stern discipline from a devoted master. These sensual hallmarks are only a few of the many dark delights that haunt the dreams of submissive girls—women who yearn for erotic punishment as much as they hunger for orgasmic release. For fans of submission, these two needs swirl and spin, twisting themselves together to create a kinky feedback loop that spirals into unending pleasure. Readers of Penthouse Variations magazine have long explored these carnal cravings in their own lives and shared their adventures, inspiring the narratives in this collection.
The twenty stories in Penthouse Variations on Submission delve deep into the desires of ladies and their dominant lovers. While there are many forms of surrender, the women in these tales live for the snug embrace of leather cuffs and cotton ropes, and the heated kiss of a well-placed whip. They understand that special mix of erotic ecstasy and agony, and these conflicting emotions fuel their fantasies as much as they fire their lust. Maggie Rigdon explains this paradox in “Nighttime Naughtiness”:
Yes, the clamp on my clit hurt. But as soon as Joshua thrust inside me, I began to focus on the pleasure. The two sensations didn’t exactly war against each other. Instead, it felt more like a tango—the pain moving with the pleasure, and the pleasure enhancing the pain.
Their desires aren’t one-sided, of course. Every submissive has a lover who mirrors her lustful longings, wanting to inflict pleasurable pain and push her into a new realm of orgasmic joy, while making her also feel treasured and whole. Felicity Lewis acknowledges this pervy partnership in “Slave for a Night”:
He was stretching out the devilish discipline session, lingering over the way he landed the blows. First on my right cheek, good and hard, then a matching blow on the left. I squirmed over his lap, gratified to feel his rock-like cock against me. Ryan and I are perfectly matched. As wet as I get when he spanks me, he becomes equally hard. We’re two parts of the same equation. Add us together and we equal total lust.
While couples have their own loving dynamic, there’s no rule that says they can’t spread the love and open their relationship to new partners—and new devious delights. A submissive learns what it’s like to be in charge, however briefly, when her master presents her with a slave girl of her own in Evelyn Townsend’s “Expensive Tastes”:
I turned my attention to her breasts, rolling her hard, pink nipples between my thumbs and forefingers…. I’d never before intimately touched another woman; her softness thrilled me. Without even a sip of wine, I was intoxicated. I felt powerful.
The sensual games played within these pages reflect only a few of the many facets of kinky lust, but with these bold adventures as inspiration, you’re bound for bliss.
Barbara Pizio
Executive Editor, Penthouse Variations
Kinky Sex Games
GRACIE STEVENSON
“One more day of vacation is all I want.” I sighed as the words left my lips.
“Two weeks in Hawaii wasn’t enough for you?”
I looked at Craig, then shook my head. Our battered suitcases remained on the floor. A few fading floral leis dangled from the dresser drawer knobs, their muted fragrance making me nostalgic for what we’d left behind. Even my golden tan looked a shade less vibrant only twenty-four hours after we’d flown back from paradise.
“I don’t want to go to the office. Not yet.”
We’d had fourteen days of our type of fun and frolic, which meant plenty of fucking and a few impromptu spankings on the beach, late at night when nobody was around. Now, our vacation was over. I knew that in my head, but not in my heart. The concept of dealing with the Monday-morning commute, with the work that awaited me, with the old nine-to-five routine, was enough to send me scurrying back under the covers.
Craig pulled the pillow off my head. “What if you had something to look forward to?”
“Like what? Like two weeks’ worth of paper on my desk?”
“Like something you need, something you deserve, something to make you wet all day long?”
I stopped burrowing under the sheets to stare at him, watching intently as he picked up my phone from the top of the dresser and began tapping the screen.
“What are you doing, Craig?”
“You’ll see,” he assured me. “Just don’t look until you get to work.” He looked so focused as his fingers flew, but he was still able to admonish: “And no cheating.”
“Cheating?” I tried to look haughty and insulted. At least, I did as best as I could with my curly red hair all rumpled and my turquoise nightie completely askew. I hitched up one strap so that my breasts were no longer spilling out. Still, Craig shut me down in a flash.
“I know you, babe. I’ll know if you looked ahead of time.”
It’s crazy how well my man understands me. Now, I actually had motivation. I went from wanting to hide under the sheets, to being nearly desperate to get to the office. In record time, I showered, dressed and headed to work. On the subway, I spent every last moment fascinated by my own fantasies about what Craig could possibly have typed into my phone. Had he scheduled a dinner at my favorite restaurant? A romantic little rendezvous at Café Rose with candles and wine and tiramisu for dessert?
No. Although I adore the food, the menu doesn’t make me wet.
Maybe he was planning to set up a dirty movie for us, one that we’d watch for only a few minutes before we’d be reenacting the sultry sex scenes right on the living room rug. That sounded more like something Craig might do.
My thoughts got away from me to the point where I actually missed my floor and had to ride the elevator back down to the correct level. Then, for several minutes, I was forced to deal with official business. But although I did my best to pay attention as my coworkers described what had happened in my absence, I could hardly wait to get to my corner office and whip out the phone.
Finally, I was able to slip away and close my office door. Of course, right then my desk phone rang.
“It’s Craig,” my assistant sang over the intercom.
I lifted the receiver, cell in hand.
“So?” he asked.
“I haven’t had a chance to look.”
“I’ll wait.”
I stared at the screen, my eyes scrolling down my schedule. The first part of the day was filled with the meetings I’d been dreading ever since we’d stepped off the plane. Just looking through the packed schedule made me wish I was back in a canvas hammock, gazing out at the beautiful, blue Pacific Ocean, caressed by its salty breezes. But when I scrolled to the end of the day, I couldn’t have cared if I ever saw a palm tree again. In the previously open four o’clock slot, Craig had written:
Think about the spanking you’re going to get.
I swallowed. Craig must have heard the sound because he laughed—a low chuckle that twanged deep inside me. “Yep,” he said softly. “I’m going to punish that gorgeous ass of yours as soon as I get home. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Craig.” I spoke the words automatically, not even really paying attention to what I was saying, because I
In the five o’clock spot, Craig had typed: Take off panties and put them in purse.
“Yes what, Gracie?” There was a sexy edge to his voice that aroused me.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, dragging my focus back to my man. I wondered where he was. Had he shut the door to his own office so he could talk to me? I couldn’t imagine him speaking like this if anyone could hear him. Maybe he’d stepped outside for a quick cup of coffee, knowing that teasing me in this way would make him as hard as I was wet.
I wondered whether he had typed complementary notes in his own electronic calendar: Taunt Gracie at 9:00. Punish her naughty ass at 6:30.
Truly, I wanted to take my panties off now; I didn’t want to wait through a nine-hour day. If I could have had my way, I would have yanked my charcoal-gray skirt up to my waist and stroked myself, while imagining being on the blistering end of a bare-bottom spanking. Because spankings from Craig are serious. They aren’t pata-cake sessions, make-believe or pretend. He always leaves my ass red and throbbing—which is just the way I like it.
I thought of our first night in Hawaii, when he’d put me over his lap and given me ten strokes with the back of my hairbrush, choosing just the right spots to smack so that my bathing suit would still give me coverage and hide the palette of pinks and reds he left behind. Thank god I hadn’t brought a thong!
“Did you read what I want you to do at five?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, why would I tell you to take off your panties?” There was still a chill in his voice. I tried my best to respond the way he desired, and yet I was growing so turned on, thinking logically was no longer first nature to me.
“Don’t make me wait, Gracie. Or else I’ll come to your office and put you over that desk. You might scare your timid little assistants, but you don’t scare me.”
The sigh that worked through me was audible. A shudder radiated from my core. I knew what he wanted me to say, yet that didn’t make speaking the words any less difficult. Oh yes, I adore being spanked. I love when my man says he’ll punish me. I am thrilled by the tone of voice he uses when he tells me I’m due for a hard session with his palm or his paddle. Yet none of that makes describing these situations any easier for me.
“Why, Gracie?” There was danger in his voice.
“Because you want to spank me on the bare?” I murmured. As I spoke, I thought about Trey, the blonde pixie right out of college who answers my phones and tracks my schedule. At that exact moment, she was out in the office foyer, and I wondered what she would make of the phone call. I am a tough boss, strict in the sense that I expect everyone on staff to work as hard as I do. And yet there I was, speaking in a hushed semi-whisper, listening to my husband explain exactly how he was going to spank my naked ass when I got home.
“I don’t want anything to get in my way when you lift up your skirt for me.”
“How did you know I was going to be wearing a skirt today?” I couldn’t help but ask him. I mean, he knows me, but he’s not psychic. He’d typed in the notes before he saw what I was wearing. What if I’d worn a suit that day?
“You have your uniform,” he said, and I could hear the grin. “Skirt and blazer on Monday. Silk blouse and tweed slacks on Tuesday. All the way to a dress on Friday.”
I hadn’t even realized.
“And I can’t wait to have you turn around and lift that skirt to show me that you’ve obeyed my order.”
I considered what he was saying. He wanted me to take off my panties at work, to ride the subway with no undies on. To walk up the stairs to our apartment, the juices from my arousal slick on my inner thighs. The chair groaned as I settled deeper into the seat.
“There’s one more thing,” Craig said, and I grimaced, guessing what he was going to tell me even before he said the words. “Don’t you dare come before tonight.” Had he gotten what my plan was simply from the squeak of my chair? I supposed so.
With what felt like extreme effort I sat up straight again, taking a deep breath to try to get control of my fantasies. “Yes, Sir,” I said, as meekly as possible. When he hung up the phone, I looked around the office, aware that the intercom was buzzing again, there were papers stacked half a foot high on my desk, and that work would keep me busy all day long. But all I wanted to do was slip my skirt up and stroke my clit until I came.
“Bad girl,” I whispered to myself. “He’ll know.”
That didn’t make the day go by any faster. How strange. At first, when I’d watched Craig enter those unknown words into my phone, I’d thought that anticipation would speed up my world. Now that I knew what was going to happen to me when I got home, I found the tick-tock of the antique clock on my wall maddeningly slow.
Part of me wanted nothing more than for four o’clock to arrive, but another part of me was nervous. Yeah, I like being spanked. Like isn’t even the right word. I crave the sensation of being put over my husband’s knee, so that I’m forced to stare down at the floor, my long curly hair falling over my face, my cheeks flushed. I love the tremors that trip through me when he makes me wait for the first blow, and then the satisfaction of feeling his palm finally meet my ripe, round asscheeks.
And yet, I am always caught in that hell of panic before I get a spanking. Of wondering how intense his hand, or his belt, or his paddle will be. The worry that I will do something wrong, forget to count or fail him in some way, that he will extend the spanking. This is, of course, coupled with the worry that I won’t.
The act of spanking, and of being spanked, encompasses such a delicious range of emotions inside me. It could even be called an art, I think. Or a dance. Because the way Craig and I work together—well, we’re nothing less than a well-choreographed duo. He twists me this way, he turns me that way and my feet follow every step.
Generally speaking, that is.
But on this Monday, because I’m human, because I’m fallible, because I couldn’t fucking stand waiting another second, I disobeyed Craig. I snuck into the bathroom at lunchtime, hitched my skirt to my hips and strummed my fingertips over my clit in rapid circles. As I stroked my pussy, I thought about being over Craig’s lap. I envisioned him pulling up my skirt and revealing my pale bottom, which seemed even more so right now against the frame of my tan. I thought about how long he might make me wait before striking the first blow, and then I thought about that rush of feelings that always overwhelms me in the heat of a spanking.
By the time I came, I could almost hear the sound of wood slapping against bare flesh, could almost see the skin blooming pink and then rose and then berry beneath a stern, unyielding paddle.
Pleasure flooded through me as I imagined my husband kissing my sweet cheeks afterward and then preparing to fuck me. Oh, that release was joyous. At least, it was for a moment. Because fear followed one beat after my orgasm, as I reminded myself that he would know I’d cheated. He’d find out.
How could I be so sure?
He always has in the past.
Like a bad girl in good girl’s clothing, I followed the rest of Craig’s commands to a T. I thought about my impending punishment at four, but I didn’t make myself climax (no matter how ready I was for the second earth-shattering orgasm of the day). I took off my panties at five. By the time I arrived home from work, I’d almost managed to convince myself that Craig wouldn’t know I’d cheated.
It’s funny how the mind works.
Because I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Craig has been loving me, taunting me and spanking my ass for so long, all he had to do was take one look at me to know.
“What time did you cheat?”
I tried to make my eyes as big and innocent as possible. Who me? My look said. I’m just your sweet, innocent, honeysuckle blossom of a wife. I’d never think of touching myself in a bathroom stall, one foot up against the door, fingers circling my clit as if I could play music on my pussy.
“When, Gracie?”
I didn’t last thirty seconds. “Noon.”
I stared down at the floor, awaiting the disappointment in Craig’s tone, but not wanting to see the look on his face. To my surprise, he started to laugh.
